


First Kiss

by disaster_imp



Series: Finding Home [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aiden is a good egg, I don't know who has the brain cell in this but it's not Lambert., M/M, Pre-Relationship, Witcher senses probably suck, idk if Lambert is ace or not but I know I am so even if he's not he probably is, no beta we die like that asshole mage fucking should have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28504284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disaster_imp/pseuds/disaster_imp
Summary: Aiden and Lambert have been travelling together for about a month, and Lambert hasn't figured out why Aiden is still hanging around. After working a contract together, they wander in search of a place to rest from summer's heat, and find themselves a shady, abandoned temple.Things do not go according to plan.Written for thisthisflash fiction prompt.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Series: Finding Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048962
Comments: 35
Kudos: 83
Collections: The Witcher Quick Fic #03





	First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CassandrasDreamworld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassandrasDreamworld/gifts).



> There are some uncomfortable sensory descriptions relating to sensations, eg skin feels like it is trying to detach itself, or bugs crawling. Lambert isn't having a lot of fun here.

Lambert isn't sure _what_ to make of the Cat witcher that has stuck to his side like glue over the past month. Cats aren't to be trusted, they'd been taught, after Treyse's betrayal of the entire Wolf school. Lambert isn't willing to condemn them all for the actions of a few, however. The older wolves were angry, after what happened, and they could hold a grudge worthy of Lambert, which is saying something, but it isn't _Lambert's_ grudge. Guxart had never been involved - he'd been imprisoned so he _couldn't_ stop it, so they clearly weren't all bad. He knows, how unpleasant it is, to be blamed for something others did. Guilty until proven innocent. Treyse had betrayed his own school, too. And as for the Cats' reputation for being volatile? Emotionally unstable? Lambert is hardly one to judge.

They've completed several jobs together in the time since they'd inadvertently stumbled upon the same contract and decided to split the bounty, and Aiden's handsome face and enthusiastic friendliness has earned him more coin than Lambert would have alone. And while it's taking him time to adjust to the other witcher's fighting technique - and _that_ intrigues Lambert enough for him to want to learn more - having two of them, even for small contracts, is making it exponentially safer. Lambert finds himself less likely to need stitching, and when he _does,_ he has someone who knows what they're doing to help him out. Coin has been divided equally, and they both prefer sleeping outdoors, so at least they have one thing in common.

He's given Lambert no reason not to trust him, but.. that's the issue, isn't it? How do you know when you can trust someone? When do you know someone well enough? Aiden isn't getting anything out of the association with Lambert, so _why does he stay?_ Scowling and short-tempered, Lambert is more likely to ram a foot down his throat and earn them less coin, or start a fight with some witcher-hating asshole looking for an excuse to rile up a mob, or get drunk and start bitching about whatever is annoying the fuck out of him today (hint: it's never Aiden). Instead of getting pissed off, Aiden _joins in,_ happily throwing punches in an ensuing brawl; running out of town with Lambert instead of casting the blame on him for pissing off someone important. Laughing about it when they're well away from the people they've offended. _Listening_ to him.

Cats are renowned for being crazy. 

Lambert _likes_ this kind of crazy.

Two hours ago at the asscrack of dawn, they'd claimed their coin from a fulfilled contract. They had worked through the night and are now, tired and dirty, wandering through a forest pretty enough to be an arm of Brokilon. A clear, happily burbling stream runs next to a narrow path; it's peaceful and calm, and they're looking for a good place to rest when a sun-dappled clearing opens up in front of them. In the centre, an ancient stone building, long abandoned and overgrown with moss and vines. Aiden brightens, arching an eyebrow at Lambert in silent question.

Shelter, Lambert assumes he's suggesting. A cool place to escape the rapidly warming heat of the sun for the day. He nods, drops his pack on the ground by a tree and arms himself with his silver sword, just in case. You never know _what_ might be lurking in a bit of mysterious gothic architecture in the middle of a fairytale forest, after all. Small gods. Leshen. _Fae._ After a moment's thought, he slides an iron dagger into his boot-top as well.

Aiden lingers outside, brushing who knows how many years of accumulated moss and grime from a stone pedestal next to the entrance. Lambert steps through a high-arched opening, and into a rustically beautiful courtyard lined with a covered walkway. Ancient buttresses stand between more open arches that line the path around, holding up a second story. The upper level is made of all different sizes of stone, expertly mortared together, and there are narrow windows spaced evenly around.

Wait. _Mostly_ evenly. One corner looks out of alignment - as if a mage has attempted to make an identical copy of another wall, but then positioned it while drunk. _Weird._ The weed-free earth is a rich, reddish brown, littered with long-dried autumn leaves, and in the centre, a large tree, somehow strong and straight and at the same time _twisted,_ as if grown inside a tornado. The lowest branches are too high to climb, and healthy green foliage spreads wide, filtering out the strong morning sun. The fiery reminder of summer itself peeks over the roof, lighting the whole tree from behind with a surreal, golden-green glow. 

Mesmerised, Lambert steps closer. The tree shivers in the wind, dispersing a fine cloud of golden-yellow pollen that swirls around on a gentle breeze, coating everything in the courtyard.

He breathes in before he realises he should be holding his breath, and the dusty pollen forces him to cough, sucking in more with each breath.

There's no wind, Lambert realises. _Too late._

A warmth blooms in his lungs and his exposed skin starts to tingle at the same time as his medallion vibrates a warning. _Fuck._ He takes a step back and turns, coughing a sputtered warning to Aiden at the same time as Aiden shouts "Lambert, get out!" from just outside.

"Move!" Lambert rasps, running towards the exit. "I'm covered in the stuff, don't let it get on you!"

Aiden runs ahead, pointing to the nearby stream. Lambert hesitates, shaking his head. 

"No. I'll contaminate the water."

"Oh, I think it will be okay," Aiden says, and to Lambert's surprise, he's laughing. Nonplussed, Lambert stands there for a moment longer, staring. 

"Go, you great lump," Aiden says. "The longer you wait, the longer the effects will last. The water will be fine. It will dissipate, the humans downstream will be fine with small doses. They're probably used to it."

Lambert directs a glare in Aiden's direction, but wades into the stream before pulling his clothes off to rinse off the fine yellow dust, scrubbing carefully at his skin. Aiden throws him a bar of soap. In spite of the cold stream water, the tingling on Lambert's skin and inside his lungs grows uncomfortably hot.

"Explain," he growls, resisting the urge to bury his head under the water and breathe.

Aiden sits, crossing his legs on the bank nearby. "There was an inscription on that pedestal. Welcome to the ancient fertility temple of Melitele. You've been sex-pollened. How are you feeling?"

Lambert stares at him, aghast, and then pays more attention to the messages his body is sending him. Sure enough, along with the rising heat is a rising libido, and along with that is an increase in sensitivity. The undershirt in his hands - a soft, well-worn linen - starts to feel coarse; his smallclothes, swaying in the gentle flow of the stream, scrape uncomfortably at the seams and where they flutter against his thighs. The soft woollen socks that Vesemir knits feel like _sandpaper._ He rips them off, shoving them inside his now soaked boots. Air passing in and out of his lungs feels tight and uncomfortable, and he tries not to scream.

"Not so great," he admits. 

Aiden strips down to his own smallclothes and steps into the water. Lambert tenses, watches him with narrowed eyes.

"It's Melitele's temple. It will be benign, there's no fuck or die, it's just meant to enhance pleasure and fertility. For those who _consent._ I won't do anything you don't want. If you want to wait it out, you'll be fine."

Lambert nods and lets him approach. When the last of the golden-yellow pollen drifts away, Aiden gathers Lambert's clothing and hangs it in low-hanging branches to dry. Lambert soaps himself up, the rough bar scraping with harsh intensity at every nerve ending in his skin - a welcome distraction from the fire inside his lungs; the resulting lather silken soft and pleasurable. Lambert groans, and Aiden races back to him, reaching a hand out to his forehead.

Lambert flinches.

"I just want to check your temperature," Aiden reassures him, drawing his hand back. He waits for Lambert to nod this time, before reaching out again.

"I feel like I have a fever. My skin tingles and prickles all over, like I'm being stabbed with tiny needles. Fuck. Off, _off."_ Lambert tears at his last remaining piece of clothing, his smallclothes, ripping them off with a frustrated yank. The tight,hot feeling in his chest escalates until it becomes a sharp pain that stabs him brutally with every breath, thousands of tiny ice-hot shards piercing his lungs.

"I can't wash my lungs out," Lambert rasps. "It's... worse." 

"You're burning up," Aiden says. "I think you're clean, you want me to set up camp here?"

"I don't... _fuck._ The water hurts. Too hot, I want to cool down, but the water hurts. How the fuck does water hurt? I want to scratch my skin off but touching it is hell. Some sex pollen, how are people supposed to fuck if they can't stand being touched, if they can't _breathe_ properly?"

"I think that's a you thing," Aiden says, watching Lambert with concern. "Or a witcher thing. The pollen is probably intended to enhance certain senses, to increase pleasure, but for you it's too much because you were already more sensitive to touch."

"Great," Lambert grumbles. 

"I don't think you'll say yes, but I have to offer. I could use Somne, if you want. Let you sleep through it."

 _"No,"_ Lambert spits out, eyeing the Cat warily again, and Aiden nods. 

"I know you don't trust me. Thats okay. Let me know if it gets too much and you change your mind. I told you, I won't do anything you don't want."

Lambert sits, naked on a patch of grass. He can feel every bump in the ground beneath him, every small rock, every twig, every blasted blade of grass pressing into his ass. The soles of his feet fare better, so he stands again, grabs his pack and rolls out his bedroll, so at least he has a flat surface. The fabric feels coarse and rough, but it's considerably more tolerable than the ground was, and, keeping his breathing slow and shallow, he tries to sleep.

He's soon frustrated with his own restlessness. Aiden fills his canteen from the stream and offers it to Lambert. He's pulled a shirt on over his smalls, and Lambert is grateful for small mercies. 

"You want anything to eat?" the other man asks, and Lambert shakes his head, the feverish feeling has left him more than a litte nauseous. He tries to meditate instead, with limited success. His skin feels as if it's trying to crawl away from his flesh, his lungs as if they're filled with broken glass, and the distraction is too much.

He lasts an hour before stalking back to the stream, but the first step into the water feels painfully tight around his ankles, his calves, and he backs off again, swearing. He paces around the clearing, but the air moving across his skin is nearly as bad; he sits, and has to keep looking to see whether he's actually covered in ants, or it just feels like that.

"Gwent?" Aiden asks. Perhaps the distraction will help the time pass faster.

Lambert is unable to concentrate on the game, and Aiden beats him easily, again and again. Lambert stops playing before he can lose his temper; it's not Aiden's fault that he's struggling, and the last thing he wants to do is lash out at someone that he might be starting to think of as a _friend._

He walks back to the river and screams across it.

His throat feels like it's being scraped with knives, so he stops.

"Do what you need to," Aiden says behind him. "Scream if you want, whatever helps."

"Doesn't. Feels like razors scraping my throat," Lambert says, whispering. 

"Ah. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

"I know. I'm sorry - I mean, I don't like to see you suffer."

 _Me either,_ Lambert thinks. 

It's past noon, and Lambert is sweating heavily as the heat of the day increases. His head throbs with a dull ache, his throat feels parched - although Aiden keeps filling the waterskin, Lambert keeps emptying it; it doesn't matter how much he drinks, the water doesn't help. 

The ache in his head increases to a painful throb. Aiden sits next to him throughout. Tired, frustrated, Lambert finally lashes out.

"Why are you still here? You could have taken my coin and cut out long ago. You don't have to babysit me."

"I prefer your company to your coin, Lambert."

"Nobody prefers my company to my coin."

Aiden is suddenly right in Lambert's face, bright green eyes glaring at him. "Stop that."

"Stop what? I'm an asshole, I'm okay with that."

"I happen to like this particular asshole," Aiden grins.

"You could sleep yourself, you know."

"I know. I don't want you to go through this alone."

 _"Why are you being so nice?_ Is this some elaborate ploy to - "

"To what, Lambert? Have my way with you? Kill you in your sleep? No. Somne or not, it's your choice. If I wanted to kill you or steal from you or do _anything_ that would harm you, why would I wait until you were asleep? There are plenty of opportunities in a fight, or while you're sleeping, or eating, or - even now, you're weak. I could take you easily. Why would I wait?"

Lambert shrugs. He's right, and Lambert is exhausted, and in so much pain that at this point... he doesn't much care what happens, he just wants it to _stop._

"Fine. Do it."

Aiden twists his fingers, and Lambert tries not to fight the implacable descent into oblivion.

  
When he wakes in the morning, Aiden is meditating next to him. The torturous sensation of insects crawling beneath his skin is no more than a memory. At some point during the night, Aiden has covered him with a light blanket - one of Aiden's, he notes, and he looks over to his own pack. It sits, untouched, where he'd dropped it next to his bedroll the day before. 

He glances up at Aiden, unsurpised to see his eyes cracking open at Lambert's movement. He reaches out a hand, and then pulls it back, smiling softly at Lambert. 

"Hey, you. Feeling better?" 

"Yeah." Lambert notices his lips are dry, his voice cracking, and Aiden passes him a water skin before he can ask. "Thanks."

"I had to Somne you three more times, and you stopped twitching about midnight. You've been sleeping naturally the past six hours or so."

Lambert swallows half the skin before dumping the rest over the top of his head, scrubbing at dry, grainy eyes and licking the last drops from his lips before passing it back to Aiden.

The Cat witcher is watching him, eyes lingering on Lambert's lips, and - _oh._ Aiden's tongue darts out briefly, and he drags his gaze reluctantly back up to meet Lambert's eyes. The emerald green of Aiden's irises glow softly in the early morning light, and he leans a little closer, a subtle invitation.

"Wait," Lambert says, interrupting the moment. "You didn't go back in, did you?"

Aiden rolls his eyes. "No, kitten. After what I saw you suffer yesterday? I'm not an _idiot."_

Lambert wants to say something self-deprecating about being seventeen kinds of fucked up if he wants to kiss Lambert, but suddenly he has no air left in his lungs and he gapes wordlessly instead. _Kitten._

This time when Aiden leans forward, Lambert meets him halfway.

**Author's Note:**

> For [Cas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassandrasDreamworld) who made me think harder when I thought I couldn't write sex pollen for a non-explicit event.


End file.
